Running away into the forest was a bit cliche for teenage rebellion, but Stevie didn’t have any other ideas. His parents were both home for once, and had found a pile of his old tests with some less-than-satisfactory grades. They were on the hunt, and his half-sister was a snitch, so that made hiding out around town out of the question as well. He considered going to the museum to waste some time, until he was struck with the intense urge to paint. The teenager packed up all his supplies and his lightest easel. His teacher suggested a while back to try en plein air, so it was now or never. But the novelty of hiking was getting old; he’d worn the wrong shoes and his easel was turning into quite a burden on the uneven terrain. Caught up in his fuming, Stevie tripped over a fallen branch. He dropped the easel and some paints fell out of his bag. When he was crawling around to find all the small tubes in the foliage, he found a large black feather, slightly warm to the touch. It barely reflected any light, only a slight deep purple glinted on its barbs. He stared at it for a moment before pocketing it, and he found his last tube of paint nearby.
After another ten minutes of walking, Stevie came to an old curling tree towering over a small clearing. Veins of gold glinted in the leaves in the afternoon light, and the deep ridges in the bark looked like cracks of lightning. Its large canopy kept the clearing cool, and Stevie’s hands itched to paint the small spots of sun that managed to break through. He quickly unloaded and set up his easel, a jar of water, and his palette. The silence of the forest was broken by the Nirvana CD he played on a small battery-powered stereo he set up in the grass. Stevie bobbed his head along to the music as he painted, starting with harsh strokes to mark out the tree. The feather he found rustled softly in the breeze where it rested on the lip of his easel. The teenager hadn’t painted outside of his garage-turned-studio in a long time, but this isolated space away from his nagging parents and magical sister was a welcome change. The anger he had felt earlier ebbed a little, and he lost himself in the painting.
Hours passed unnoticed. Stevie had just broken out his new tube of gold flecked acrylic when he noticed the humming reverberating out of his stereo. Usually when the battery in his stereo was about to die, his music just stuttered and staticked before fading into silence. The eerie hum filled his ears, and didn’t sound like it was coming from just his stereo anymore. Stevie looked quickly around the clearing and saw a shimmering cloud around the tree he was painting. And it was coming towards him fast.
Shit.
And then he was plunged into darkness. His stereo sounded its familiar dying static before giving out, but the humming remained. His easel and art supplies still sat next to him, but otherwise the surrounding forest didn’t match his painting any longer. The bright colors he’d been using looked muted and tinged with blue. The air was much colder. Stevie reached forward without thinking and grabbed the feather from his easel. The warmth that radiated from it was comforting, and he ran his fingers over the soft black barbs to calm himself. Bubbles of Fae moving around the island were relatively common, but they were usually warm and colorful with a wavy shimmer that was dizzying to look too closely at. This one felt entirely different, and without the shimmer he saw before he was swallowed up, he might not have even recognized it as a Bubble. The air was heavy and Stevie felt like he was being pulled towards the ground. His pulse quickened despite the slow breaths he was forcing through his nose. The oppressive smell of smoke in the bubble was making him lightheaded. What had he been taught in school? Stay put until the Bubble passes, and nothing is going to hurt you.
When he saw the eyes opening from beyond the trees, Stevie decided all of that was complete and utter bullshit. He edged towards his easel instinctively, using the propped canvas to mask himself from view. It was naive, he knew, but if he couldn’t see them, maybe they wouldn’t see him. To his right, where his meager hiding spot gave way, a pair of narrow eyes was getting bigger and brighter. Stevie watched, his stomach in knots, as a figure stepped out from between the trees. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before, a shadowy creature with spindly limbs too swirling and incorporeal to call humanoid. It reached out towards him, its palm facing upwards, asking. Demanding. He shut his eyes tight and could feel the closeness of the inhumanely long clawed fingers. The feather crushed between the boy’s shaking hands, and he could taste blood in his mouth from biting his lip.
Please.
As the nails brushed his chin, Stevie felt two arms wrap tightly around him and yank him backwards. He was surrounded by a softness that curled around his body, but there was something tall and solid underneath. One ghostly white arm flecked with black crossed over his chest to hold his shoulders against their body. The other held his face against their feathered neck, and their sharp black-tipped fingers dug into the boy’s cheek. The smell of rain clung to the inky feathers, and Stevie’s breaths, despite his terror, began to even out.
He tried to turn in their firm grasp and saw the faerie stretching over his shoulder. Their face was midway between bird and human, beautiful and horrifying at once. Their white skin almost glowed in the darkness until it faded into feathers, and their large void black eyes reflected nothing. They screeched a warning at the creature, stopping it in its tracks, but others had migrated towards them and formed a half circle around the clearing. Stevie’s face was pushed back hard into the faerie’s neck, and he felt their hand move from his cheek to clamp over his ear. He felt the vibrations first against his spine, bubbling deep through the faerie before they let out a deafening roar. Many of the creatures retreated, but a few sprang towards them.
The faerie took off.
Stevie lost all sense of his body’s direction. The faerie shifted between transformations rapidly, somehow still holding him tightly against their body. Feather shifted to fur, to sharp scales, to spines, then back to feathers. They were gaining distance from their pursuers and Stevie, as he was jostled about, saw a familiar shimmer past the next cusp of trees. They were almost out. He felt wings, he didn’t know how many, unfurl from the faerie’s body, and the grasp around his body felt human again. The wings beat heavily against the air and propelled them breathtakingly fast through the barrier of Fae. The sunlight blinded Stevie when they broke through, and he felt them hit the ground and roll through the grass before he fell unconscious.
He awoke slowly to the feeling of fingers brushing against his cheek. His eyes swam with tears as he tried to open them, and it took a few bleary blinks to clear his vision. The hand on his cheek pulled away slightly and he saw black fingertips that slowly faded to pale white skin. It looked less sharp and more human now, like the hand of a pianist.
“You were bruised a little. I apologize,” the faerie said.
Stevie looked up at them, squinting against the sunlight. They had a rather feminine face, with pointed features that hinted at the bird form he remembered. Thick black waves of hair framed their face now instead of feathers and hung almost to the ground where they sat. Their eyes weren’t all black anymore, with flecks of grey that broke up the iris. The faerie stared back at the teen as he studied them, their gaze unwavering. A soreness twinged in his cheek and he reached his hand up to it, tracing the five distinct marks where the faerie’s fingers had held his face. He struggled to sit up, pushing himself up from his elbows. His head felt unbelievably heavy.
The faerie put a hand on his chest to stop him. “You should not get up yet,” they said. “it will be a moment until you adjust again.” But Stevie shook his head and kept trying to sit up. The faerie watched him for a moment with a cool expression before moving their hand to his back to help bring him upright.
His body ached like he’d run for miles without stopping. He saw he was in the clearing from before. His easel and supplies had been knocked over, but from where he sat, nothing looked like it was missing. Stevie could see hundreds of black feathers cascaded on the forest floor around the pair, like they had all been shed off at once. His feather was still in his hand, its barbs crinkled and twisted in different directions. “How did you even find me?” Stevie asked, “I thought I was all alone.”
“You summoned me,” the faerie said, pointing at the feather Stevie held. He looked down and reddened, ashamed of the condition he put it in. Mutters of apology tumbled out of his mouth as he tried to smooth out the barbs. His fingers shook with the memory of the dark. The faerie, sitting across from him now, reached forward and stilled his hands between theirs.
“You’re safe now. Those who forgot themselves in the dark cannot reach you here.” The faerie didn’t quite smile, but their dark eyes were warm. When they pulled back, the feather had been replaced by a fae fruit. Stevie rolled the plum-sized fruit around in his hands as he watched the faerie run their fingers over the wrinkled black feather and deftly straighten it out. “Eat,” the faerie said, even though they hadn’t looked up from their work.
The boy quickly took a bite of the fruit. Some of the violet juice dripped down from his chin onto his already paint-stained jeans. His mind still reeled, and the sweetness of the fruit mingled a little sickeningly in his stomach. But its warmth ebbed at the cold he still felt. The faerie placed the feather on the ground between them, and the pair sat in silence until the light turned pink in the sunset.
c a l l
Running away into the forest was a bit cliche for teenage rebellion, but Stevie didn’t have any other ideas. His parents were both home for once, and had found a pile of his old tests with some less-than-satisfactory grades. They were on the hunt, and his half-sister was a snitch, so that made hiding out around town out of the question as well. He considered going to the museum to waste some time, until he was struck with the intense urge to paint. The teenager packed up all his supplies and his lightest easel. His teacher suggested a while back to try en plein air, so it was now or never. But the novelty of hiking was getting old; he’d worn the wrong shoes and his easel was turning into quite a burden on the uneven terrain. Caught up in his fuming, Stevie tripped over a fallen branch. He dropped the easel and some paints fell out of his bag. When he was crawling around to find all the small tubes in the foliage, he found a large black feather, slightly warm to the touch. It barely reflected any light, only a slight deep purple glinted on its barbs. He stared at it for a moment before pocketing it, and he found his last tube of paint nearby.
After another ten minutes of walking, Stevie came to an old curling tree towering over a small clearing. Veins of gold glinted in the leaves in the afternoon light, and the deep ridges in the bark looked like cracks of lightning. Its large canopy kept the clearing cool, and Stevie’s hands itched to paint the small spots of sun that managed to break through. He quickly unloaded and set up his easel, a jar of water, and his palette. The silence of the forest was broken by the Nirvana CD he played on a small battery-powered stereo he set up in the grass. Stevie bobbed his head along to the music as he painted, starting with harsh strokes to mark out the tree. The feather he found rustled softly in the breeze where it rested on the lip of his easel. The teenager hadn’t painted outside of his garage-turned-studio in a long time, but this isolated space away from his nagging parents and magical sister was a welcome change. The anger he had felt earlier ebbed a little, and he lost himself in the painting.
Hours passed unnoticed. Stevie had just broken out his new tube of gold flecked acrylic when he noticed the humming reverberating out of his stereo. Usually when the battery in his stereo was about to die, his music just stuttered and staticked before fading into silence. The eerie hum filled his ears, and didn’t sound like it was coming from just his stereo anymore. Stevie looked quickly around the clearing and saw a shimmering cloud around the tree he was painting. And it was coming towards him fast.
Shit.
And then he was plunged into darkness. His stereo sounded its familiar dying static before giving out, but the humming remained. His easel and art supplies still sat next to him, but otherwise the surrounding forest didn’t match his painting any longer. The bright colors he’d been using looked muted and tinged with blue. The air was much colder. Stevie reached forward without thinking and grabbed the feather from his easel. The warmth that radiated from it was comforting, and he ran his fingers over the soft black barbs to calm himself. Bubbles of Fae moving around the island were relatively common, but they were usually warm and colorful with a wavy shimmer that was dizzying to look too closely at. This one felt entirely different, and without the shimmer he saw before he was swallowed up, he might not have even recognized it as a Bubble. The air was heavy and Stevie felt like he was being pulled towards the ground. His pulse quickened despite the slow breaths he was forcing through his nose. The oppressive smell of smoke in the bubble was making him lightheaded. What had he been taught in school? Stay put until the Bubble passes, and nothing is going to hurt you.
When he saw the eyes opening from beyond the trees, Stevie decided all of that was complete and utter bullshit. He edged towards his easel instinctively, using the propped canvas to mask himself from view. It was naive, he knew, but if he couldn’t see them, maybe they wouldn’t see him. To his right, where his meager hiding spot gave way, a pair of narrow eyes was getting bigger and brighter. Stevie watched, his stomach in knots, as a figure stepped out from between the trees. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before, a shadowy creature with spindly limbs too swirling and incorporeal to call humanoid. It reached out towards him, its palm facing upwards, asking. Demanding. He shut his eyes tight and could feel the closeness of the inhumanely long clawed fingers. The feather crushed between the boy’s shaking hands, and he could taste blood in his mouth from biting his lip.
Please.
As the nails brushed his chin, Stevie felt two arms wrap tightly around him and yank him backwards. He was surrounded by a softness that curled around his body, but there was something tall and solid underneath. One ghostly white arm flecked with black crossed over his chest to hold his shoulders against their body. The other held his face against their feathered neck, and their sharp black-tipped fingers dug into the boy’s cheek. The smell of rain clung to the inky feathers, and Stevie’s breaths, despite his terror, began to even out.
He tried to turn in their firm grasp and saw the faerie stretching over his shoulder. Their face was midway between bird and human, beautiful and horrifying at once. Their white skin almost glowed in the darkness until it faded into feathers, and their large void black eyes reflected nothing. They screeched a warning at the creature, stopping it in its tracks, but others had migrated towards them and formed a half circle around the clearing. Stevie’s face was pushed back hard into the faerie’s neck, and he felt their hand move from his cheek to clamp over his ear. He felt the vibrations first against his spine, bubbling deep through the faerie before they let out a deafening roar. Many of the creatures retreated, but a few sprang towards them.
The faerie took off.
Stevie lost all sense of his body’s direction. The faerie shifted between transformations rapidly, somehow still holding him tightly against their body. Feather shifted to fur, to sharp scales, to spines, then back to feathers. They were gaining distance from their pursuers and Stevie, as he was jostled about, saw a familiar shimmer past the next cusp of trees. They were almost out. He felt wings, he didn’t know how many, unfurl from the faerie’s body, and the grasp around his body felt human again. The wings beat heavily against the air and propelled them breathtakingly fast through the barrier of Fae. The sunlight blinded Stevie when they broke through, and he felt them hit the ground and roll through the grass before he fell unconscious.
He awoke slowly to the feeling of fingers brushing against his cheek. His eyes swam with tears as he tried to open them, and it took a few bleary blinks to clear his vision. The hand on his cheek pulled away slightly and he saw black fingertips that slowly faded to pale white skin. It looked less sharp and more human now, like the hand of a pianist.
“You were bruised a little. I apologize,” the faerie said.
Stevie looked up at them, squinting against the sunlight. They had a rather feminine face, with pointed features that hinted at the bird form he remembered. Thick black waves of hair framed their face now instead of feathers and hung almost to the ground where they sat. Their eyes weren’t all black anymore, with flecks of grey that broke up the iris. The faerie stared back at the teen as he studied them, their gaze unwavering. A soreness twinged in his cheek and he reached his hand up to it, tracing the five distinct marks where the faerie’s fingers had held his face. He struggled to sit up, pushing himself up from his elbows. His head felt unbelievably heavy.
The faerie put a hand on his chest to stop him. “You should not get up yet,” they said. “it will be a moment until you adjust again.” But Stevie shook his head and kept trying to sit up. The faerie watched him for a moment with a cool expression before moving their hand to his back to help bring him upright.
His body ached like he’d run for miles without stopping. He saw he was in the clearing from before. His easel and supplies had been knocked over, but from where he sat, nothing looked like it was missing. Stevie could see hundreds of black feathers cascaded on the forest floor around the pair, like they had all been shed off at once. His feather was still in his hand, its barbs crinkled and twisted in different directions. “How did you even find me?” Stevie asked, “I thought I was all alone.”
“You summoned me,” the faerie said, pointing at the feather Stevie held. He looked down and reddened, ashamed of the condition he put it in. Mutters of apology tumbled out of his mouth as he tried to smooth out the barbs. His fingers shook with the memory of the dark. The faerie, sitting across from him now, reached forward and stilled his hands between theirs.
“You’re safe now. Those who forgot themselves in the dark cannot reach you here.” The faerie didn’t quite smile, but their dark eyes were warm. When they pulled back, the feather had been replaced by a fae fruit. Stevie rolled the plum-sized fruit around in his hands as he watched the faerie run their fingers over the wrinkled black feather and deftly straighten it out. “Eat,” the faerie said, even though they hadn’t looked up from their work.
The boy quickly took a bite of the fruit. Some of the violet juice dripped down from his chin onto his already paint-stained jeans. His mind still reeled, and the sweetness of the fruit mingled a little sickeningly in his stomach. But its warmth ebbed at the cold he still felt. The faerie placed the feather on the ground between them, and the pair sat in silence until the light turned pink in the sunset.